When the Detective met the Vampire
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: Sherlock met a man who claimed to be a vampire once. The man warned him of others like himself, the vampaneze. Sherlock always thought it was a load of rubbish until one of them turns up at Baker Street almost thirty years later.


"Who are you? Why do you have those scars on your fingers?"

A small boy with a mop of curly hair, clutching a torch close to his chest, stares at a tall man in a bright red suit currently stood in his back garden.

"I am a vampire," the man deadpans.

The young boy's icy eyes glare out from underneath his fringe, "no, vampires don't exist. Mummy, Papa _and_ Mycroft told me they don't, and they're _always_ right."

"Well, boy, they have obviously never met anyone like myself."

Already tiring of the conversation, the suited man nods and begins to climb the wall of the garden, not attempting to hide his eagerness in trying to escape the boy's presence.

"At least tell me your name!" The boy pauses, suddenly remembering his manners, "please?"

The man pauses half way up the wall and grins, the long, curved scar on his cheek wrinkling, "Larten Crepsley. And you?"

"I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, little Sherlock, watch out for my kind. Especially the ones with," he pauses, contemplating his choice of words, "purple skin. My people are peaceful; we do not kill when we feed. The vampaneze always kill their victims, suck them dry."

Sherlock wrinkles his nose and tries to say, "excuse me?" but the man has already scaled the wall and hopped over the top. He shrugs the stranger off as someone with an overactive imagination, just like how his school teachers describe his own mind, and brings his attention back to what he had originally come to the garden to do. He quickly forgets about the strange man and shines the torch into the flowerbeds, carefully cataloguing the moonlit wildlife.

Mummy Holmes finds him asleep beside the rose bush the next morning. She threatens him with no experiments for a month, a ten year old Mycroft looking smug beside her.

Almost thirty years later Sherlock is living in London with the ex-army doctor, John Watson, and has all but forgotten about his encounter with Larten Crepsley. Until, that is, late one night, one of the vampaneze Sherlock had been warned about when he was six breaks into 221b with the intention to kill them both.

Luckily, John, as an ex-military man who is prepared for all occasions, when he realises someone is looming above his bed, who is not Sherlock, he manages to wrestle the strange man down the stairs and into the living room, where Sherlock is dozing on the sofa. He immediately snaps into full attention and puts his years of martial arts training and boxing to work, working well with ohn's military training to get the man to the floor, arms and legs pinned down so he is unable to move.

Sherlock leans down to the man after texting Greg Lestrade about the intruder, "I was warned about people like you a long time ago. Vampire, was it?"

"Vampaneze." The man snarls, baring his teeth. "Young Murlough will not be compared to one of those vampires." He squirms, but Sherlock moves to sit on Murlough's back, so he can't move around too much. "You cannot kill young Murlough, my brothers will come for you, to seek _vengeance_."

"Yes, very interesting. Now why are you here?"

Murlough smirks, his blood red lips curling over his teeth, "my next meal, of course."

Sherlock grimaces, hoping John hadn't heard. He hadn't, but had shifted slightly, his attention trained on Sherlock's bedroom door. There is a faint creak of a floorboard inside the room. Sherlock nods permission for him to look, so John creeps across the landing and slowly opens the door.

John's next thought is, "why can't I breathe?" because he is being held against the wall, a tight grip around his throat. Sherlock instantly recognises the man.

"Larten Crepsley?"

"Ah, you." Larten quickly lets go of John, letting him slump to the floor, gasping for breath.

Sherlock smirks, "so, you were telling the truth. Vampires do exist. It's been almost thirty years and _you_ don't look any different."

"I wish I could say the same for you, little Sherlock. You have grown."

Sherlock chuckles, "I assume you're here for him?" He gestures to the vampaneze currently struggling beneath him.

"Indeed," he waves behind him, into the room, "come Darren, we will not be here long."

A young boy with the appearance of a fifteen year old steps into the room, his eyes darting curiously around the flat, "this is Darren Shan. He is a half vampire and my assistant."

The boy follows as Larten crouches down to Murlough and speaks directly to him, "St. Bartholomew's hospital, the rooftop. 4am." Murlough growls under his breath, which Larten takes as a confirmation, "you may stand now Sherlock, he will not bother you again."

Sherlock slowly brings himself to his full height; Murlough quickly stands and disappears down the stairs to the front door his eyes trained on Larten, he doesn't so much as glace at Sherlock, John or Darren. Once he's sure Murlough is gone, Larten nods at Darren, who goes back to the window and clambers out, "it is good to see you again Sherlock."

"And you."

Larten sweeps past John, who is still on the floor, massaging his throat, and gracefully climbs through the window, closing it behind himself.

"Who was that?" John croaks.

"A vampire, believe it or not. A vampire who just saved both our necks."

John lets out an almost laugh, "he may have saved yours, but I think he might have bruised mine."


End file.
